


Hangovers and Headaches

by annaliesegrace



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annaliesegrace/pseuds/annaliesegrace
Summary: My version of what happened after dinner (started before 1x04), where Ginny gets drunk. Implied Ginny/Mike.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I did it, I fell into this ship headfirst and I LOVE how many other people have also. These two are SO awesome together, the actors chemistry is fan-tastic.

Ginny Baker was going to be the death of him.

It was destined the second she was brought up from the minors and set foot in his world.

It was destined the second he walked to the mound and gave her his big “aiming your pitches” speech, forever linking them together. Baker and Lawson, Lawson and Baker. God, he hoped they didn’t give them some insipid mashed name, he hated that shit.

And it was cemented when his god damn cell phone went off at 2 am and Tommy Miller was on the other end.

“What,” he grumbled unhappily.

“You need to come to the bar.”

“Look Tommy, I played your wingman once, it was terrifying and I made it clear never again,” he mumbled into the phone, finger a millimeter from the “End” button.

“It’s Ginny.” Tommy’s voice was strained, his finger pulled back and instantly Mike was sitting up in his hotel bed, tossing off the covers.

“What’s Ginny?” he asked while trying to remember where he’d left his jeans.

“She might’ve had a couple too many and isnt-” The pitcher paused and Mike’s blood pressure went up. “She’s not listenin, man.”

Pausing as he pulled the now located jeans up his legs Mike practically hissed into the phone. “What did you do, Tommy?”

“Nothin, Lawson. I swear!”

Mike frowned, remembering where she had gone right after their afternoon game and groaned. The dinner with her mother…and she’d been high strung beforehand. The Baker family dynamics were still a bit of a mystery to him, all he knew for sure was her father had died in a car accident after the Padres scout had approached them and things between her and her mother were strained, Ginny barely mentioned the other woman. This could not be good.

Tommy’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Lawson?”

Mike huffed. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in 5.”

“Ok, man. Thanks.”

Concern and irritation fighting for his emotional state, Mike walked into the bar attached to their hotel in Chicago and scanned the room, easily finding the half dozen players who had gone out that night (day/night games were always prime for nights out), including Ginny (who’d apparently met up with them after dinner), holed up in a booth at the back of the room.

Scrubbing his hands over his face and plastering on a grin, Mike approached the group. “What’s up fellas.”

“Lawson!” Ginny yelped and tried to get up from her seat –unsuccessfully falling right back next to Tommy. Irritation was winning, she was completely wasted, why had they even let her get this far?

“Baker!” he called back with fake enthusiasm.

“Sup old man?” she asked with a grin, and several of the other players grinned with her. It occurred to Lawson that maybe it had been only Tommy concerned with her state, the other players seemed happy enough to play along and didn’t look as relieved as the other pitcher did.

Addressing the group at large Mike spoke firmly, “Gotta game tomorrow guys, probably time to wrap it up.”

Everyone but Tommy booed him, loudly. Then the third baseman, Cruz, spoke up. “C’mon Lawson, live a little it’s a night game, plenty of time.”

Of course they’d argue, couldn’t make it easy for him. So he took a more direct approach. “Ginny, can we talk?” he asked and tilted his head to the side.

Tommy facilitated her exit by moving out of the booth, giving her a clear path and Mike a grateful look. Ginny looked suspicious but scooted out of the booth, the bottom part of her dress whooshing around her legs as she stood. Mike had to resist looking at the smooth skin exposed by the movement.

As he pulled her away from the table, Mike took her elbow. “You need to call it a night.”

“Ah, I do not. What is with you and Miller?” she replied and moved to return to the table, Mike physically blocked her. Suddenly he understood why Tommy had called him; he’d obviously tried to get her back up to her room but she’d refused and the pitcher hadn’t been sure what to do. Mike knew for a fact Miller would never have physically moved her.

He avoided the question. “What happened tonight?”

Her face fell and she seemed to sober instantly. “Nothing.”

“Really? Nothing has you completely wasted at the hotel bar when I know for a fact that you’re up by 8 am even on non-pitching days to work out. Biology and all that. Your good for a beer or two, maybe three but not this.”

“If I leave, will you stop asking?” she asked quietly.

“For now,” he replied and moved even closer, shuffling his feet. “But at some point you’re gonna need to talk.” The “and I’m here” was left unsaid but understood.

With a nod she slipped around him and walked back to the table, bidding her farewell to the guys and leaving money on the table. Initially they made a collective noise of disappointment but stopped abruptly at Mike’s expression behind her.

“Night Baker,” they all called as she turned and walked out while Tommy gave Mike a grateful look.

Mike sighed, when had he become these kid’s fathers, fixing their problems for them. Watching Ginny walk out of the bar, Mike banished the thought of being their father right out of his head, it felt – inappropriate, especially in relation to her.

Silently they made their way to the elevators and Mike felt a little guilty for her sudden mood swing to sullen and closed off.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. She stumbled slightly getting in, and Mike took her elbow gently, steading her as they entered.

“Don’t… don’t be sorry. We’ve all had those days where it goes to shit and a bottle of vodka looks like the solution. But Baker-“

She cut him off. “I know, I need to be more careful, more in control, more…everything.”

“That’s a hell of a burden,” he sighed and pressed the button for their floor, mercifully the elevator was empty except them.

“Tell me about it,” she said while leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes. As the seasoned progressed Mike had been witness to the constant, unrelenting pressure she was under and it didn’t seem fair. She was stronger than anyone he knew and it was blowing him away, she blew him away every damn day.

“C’mon,” he said as the doors slide open again and lead her out of the elevator, one hand on her lower back, fingers ghosting over soft material of her dress.

 

She was dying, clearly. That was the only explanation for the pounding headache, urge to throw up and general crappy feeling that seemed to permeate every cell in her body. Rolling over, Ginny groaned into the pillow and willed the sun that was working its way through the curtains to her face, to go away. Wait…something wasn’t _quite_ right and it took her a minute to figure out what it was. The sun (and therefore the windows) should have been on her left side but was currently on her right.

This was _not_ her room. The realization had her sitting up far too quickly and the nausea intensified.

“Better not throw up on my bed, rookie.” The familiar voice rang out near the small desk. “We’re here one more night.”

“Lawson?” she asked and reflexively looked down at herself, she was clad in an oversized t-shirt not her own. A quick scan of the room (which now had her head pounding) revealed her dress placed neatly over the chair by the window. “Why-“

“Well you were barely walking and I wasn’t sure you weren’t going to end up throwing up so rather than leave you alone to choke on your stupidity, I brought you to my room.”

“How…helpful,” she snarked. “And I assume this is your shirt?”

“Yep,” he replied and set his phone down on the desk just in time to see her horrified expression. “Oh, relax, Rookie. You took it upon yourself to rifle through my drawers, pull out a shirt and change. I, like a gentleman, looked the other way until you had taken over my bed.”

For the second day in a row she blushed fiercely and pulled the covers around her form a little tighter. “Oh, God. I’m sorry Lawson, that was…wow, inappropriate. I’ll…I’ll get outta here.”

Before he could respond there was a knock on the door and she practically jumped, panic flowing through her. Because it would be very, very bad to be caught in Mike Lawson’s hotel room. In his bed, clad only in his shirt.

But he grinned, almost evilly, at her and stepped to the door opening it just enough to quietly talk to whoever was on the other side but not letting them in. The urge to peek around the corner was almost overwhelming but then Ginny remembered her lack of dress and scooted back in the bed toward the headboard.

Even as she’d walked into the bar last night, Ginny had known it was a bad idea, she was emotionally overwrought from the dinner with her Mom and adding alcohol had been a recipe for disaster. Thankfully her catcher had been there for her and something resembling affection filled her.

Until he rolled the room service cart into the room and the smell of eggs, bacon and other assorted breakfast foods fill her nose; which sent her nausea from abating to nearly gagging.

Lawson was standing next to the cart, smiling widely at her. “Hungry?”

“I hate you,” she croaked and leaned back against the headboard.

“No, you don’t,” he said and pointed to a glass next to the bed. It was filled with a yellow-ish liquid.

“I certainly do and what the hell is that?”

“That is the remedy for what ails you. Drink up.”

“It looks like piss, Lawson.”

“It is not piss, Baker. Its Vernor’s, specifically flat Vernor’s. Which, lucky you we are close enough to Michigan that it’s easy to find. Pitcher from Detroit turned me onto this miracle hangover cure when I first came up.”

She looked between Lawson and the glass, debating if he was screwing with her before reaching for the liquid and quickly drinking half in one go. It wasn’t bad, ginger flavored but not overwhelming.

Within fifteen minutes her stomach had stopped rolling and the smell coming from the tray was suddenly somewhat appealing and Ginny realized she hadn’t really eaten since lunch after leaving dinner with her Mom early. Eying the night table again, Ginny grabbed the two small pills he had left next to the Vernor’s and downed those with the rest of the drink.

Tentatively she moved toward the end of the bed, attempting to pull the sheets with her, Mike had taken a plate over to the desk and was sitting sideways, eating while watching her with one eye. As she scooted toward the end of the bed, Ginny realized her attempts to use the covers as a shield were becoming equally frustrating and fruitless and abandoned them about halfway down.

Thankfully Mike’s shirt was long enough that she wasn’t exposing anything he hadn’t already seen in her workout clothes. Though she had not missed the fact Mike had been staring at her legs before he’d quickly turned back to his plate, trying to pretend he hadn’t.

Ginny smiled, pulled the shirt down between her legs to be sure she wasn’t giving him a show, sat at the edge of the bed and picked at a muffin on the tray.

“More fluids,” Mike said suddenly and side-eyed her. “It’ll help the headache.”

“Yes, sir,” she said and took a long drink of the Vitamin water next to her plate. “Your eggs are still making me nauseous.”

Mike popped the last bit of the offending item into his mouth and chewed quickly. “Well,” he said, taking a drink of coffee. “If you hadn’t gotten completely wasted last night the smell of my eggs wouldn’t be bothering you.” She was silent but took a bigger bite of the muffin and he turned toward her, speaking quieter, “C’mon, Baker. What happened.”

Looking down she sighed and set the now-unappetizing food back on the tray, picking up the water instead. “My Mom brought her boyfriend.”

“Ok, that doesn’t seem so-“

“It’s the same man I caught her cheating with when I was a kid.”

Surprised played on his face for a second before he schooled it back to neutral and muttered, “Oh…oh.”

“They tried to play it off like they’d only just met. How could she do that!” she exclaimed and stood, pacing slowly back and forth in front of the small space in front of the window (her hangover clearly forgotten). “They’ve been seeing each other for six years, Mike. SIX! While they were both married. I don’t know if I can forgive that, she cheated on my Dad.”

Mike stood and walked over to her, gripping her shoulders and stopping the relentless pacing that was starting to give him a headache. “Ginny, stop. Just…stop. Sometimes marriages die long before the divorce, trust me. I don’t know about your parents but I know the toll baseball can take on a family, it’s hard, it’s unrelenting and often enough it kills marriages, and not just player ones.”

Ginny flinched – she’d always gotten the impression that Mike’s divorce was because of baseball and that all but confirmed it for her. “So your saying-“

“I’m saying _talk_ to her, Rookie. That’s all.”

As quick as it started, her tirade stopped and she slumped. Then his arms were wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug and she went willingly, winding her arms around his torso and resting her head in the crook of his neck. It felt nice in his arms, warm, safe and for just a second Ginny allowed herself the moment.

“Wanna hit the gym with me?” she finally said after several silent minutes.

“You are seriously going to the gym?” he asked and pulled her away, and for another second she allowed herself to be disappointed at the sudden lack of…him.

“Sweat out the hangover,” she said, it had worked for her in the past. “C’mon old man.”

“You know, you’re the only person I let call me that.”

She grinned widely at him. “Oh, I know.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, ends are hard and this one feels a little abrupt but it was also a good place to stop because I love the hanging banter thing. This MIGHT be one more chapter, we'll see.


End file.
